


Scratch

by Davechicken



Series: Kylux - Toppy/Dommy Kylo [22]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Consensual Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 03:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Hux has an itch to scratch.





	Scratch

It’s so, so very wrong. Hux knows he should keep himself in tip-top condition, even if he’s _not_ on the front lines. He shouldn’t ever be limping to work, or sitting down gingerly so no one sees the pain on his face. He shouldn’t be massaging in Bacta salve so he doesn’t get infections, or pulling down his shirt-sleeves to cover the red lines around his wrists.

He _knows_. But he can’t help himself.

Kylo’s nails are like bullet-points of pure pleasure when they score lines down his back, marking the expanse into furrows of owned and ploughed land. The half-moons he digs into his upper thighs and buttocks when he pulls him wide for a tonguing, or a fucking, make Hux’s head swim. 

The hands that circle his throat and choke the air in him to molten lava are a gift that gives twice over. The heady lack of air, the skipping sensation, and the marks that last the next day. A necklace of adoration bruising his flesh, and a lingering ache when he swallows.

Kylo knows _just_ when to stop. Always. Hux knows he’s perfectly safe, even if his hindbrain kicks the panic up high in response. It’s a mad tug of war between his mind and his body, and he loves to feel so - so - _overwhelmed_. Without the ability to process so much bliss, he’s nothing but raw nerves and screaming, or the silent place he goes shortly after.

Teeth - so strong - that bite in love-letters. Hands that push the shape of them in as a memory of the slap. Blood that drips down onto silken sheets, and the way his muscles burn the lactic acid when he’s been tugged and pulled too hard. The way he’s not sure he can handle the brutal fucking, the pressure against his prostate, the spreading of his cock from the inside with progressively wider plugs and sounds. He’s hollowed out - stretched to the edges of the room - and all the spaces made inside him are filled with _him_.

The Order has enough of him. His body? Well. It _was_ his, but now it’s Kylo’s.

And he **loves it**.


End file.
